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316 THE TRUMPET-CALL.
Will not foul shame, on your craven cheek burning, Your cowardice brand ?
Hark to the Past! its heroes are saying
" We, too, have died ! " Hark to the Future ! its dim voices praying —
" For us you decide !"
Strike on the iron, while yet it is glowing —
Let the blow fall! Finish the labor beyond all undoing,
Once, and for all!
Yet there is time, O why will you lose it,
And lingering stay ? Your place still is waiting, O say, will you use it,
Or cast it away ?
Hark ! the loud trumpet, its clear note repeating,
Waits for reply; Says not your heart, keeping time with its beating,
"Lo! Here am I!"
Calais, Me., Feb. 1864. l.